Roadkill
by twennyfree
Summary: 2D was in many ways like a piece of roadkill. Lucky for him, Russel was good at putting roadkill back together again. Russelx2D, THAT'S RIGHT, LOVE FOR THE RUSSEL SPROUT. Takes place sometime around Phase 2? Characters written with a slight accent?


Roadkill  
One-shot  
Rated ~ PG-13, for language more than anything else.  
Pairs ~ 2D x RUSSEL OMFG LOVE FOR THE RUSSEL SPROUT  
Summary ~ 2D was in many ways like a piece of roadkill. Lucky for him, Russel was good at putting roadkill back together again.  
Disclaimer ~ Muhfuggin dizclaim'd.  
Recommended music ~ "Love Dog" by native Brooklyn band TV on the Radio  
(.com/watch?v=LfUv6r3iVOw) GO LISTEN TO IT. RIGHT NOW.

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"...and for the love of Satannnn, STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM MY FAGS!"

Russel Hobbs jerked his head up from the Frankenstein-creature he was assembling, the scapel he held clattering to the ground. It sounded like Murdoc had just begun his daily hobby of 2D-bashing. And over a couple cigs, too. It was pretty early -- why were the two up and active at 11:30 on a Monday? And damn, were they being loud. Russel could hear them from across Kong in the old gym, and while the old walls _were_ as thin and fragile as notepad paper, those motherfuckers were making a ruckus. Fuck, he'd forgotten what he was going to do with the animal.

Russel stared down at his creation - a possum with giant bat wings and a raccoon's tail. This was rogue, roadkill taxidermy at its finest. It was a hobby he'd started in prep school when he didn't know what else to do with himself. Even when he was clear-headed, he'd still be haunted by thoughts of death. So Russel would wander around the edge of the school's property, where he would find the bodies of small animals that had been torn up by owls and hawks, or young deer who'd run into cars. A little digging in the library produced "A Beginner's Guide to Taxidermy." The first animals he stuffed were two squirrels mounted on book-ends, their paws leaning forward to support his vinyl collection. Winged chipmunks and a racoon duffel bag followed shortly. He liked to think he was giving life back to the butchered animals.

The winged possum-raccoon stared up at Russel with blank, glassy eyes, looking toothless and unfortunate. From a distance he heard more sounds: something fell with a loud clang, 2D seemed to be blubbering frantically. Oh, now he remembered. There were a pair of antlers and gold fang caps Russel wanted to add. Those were back in the room, though, and he needed to pick up some more epoxy. At the same time, he didn't want to walk into one of Murdoc and 2D's fights. Just thinking about the two go at it got him riled up.

Goddamn Murdoc, always beating on 2D. If 2D had been a woman, Russel thought, he wouldn't let Murdoc come anywhere near him. He knew guys in Brooklyn who'd toss their girls around like they were rag dolls, and others who'd destroy guys they had a long-standing beef with over stupid shit. The more he thought about it, the way 2D and Murdoc fought was closer to an unhappy couple. Both were loaded and could very well split from Gorillaz and have successful solo careers. So what kept them together, habit? Sometimes it seemed like one had to get under the other's skin to remind the other he was still there.

Russel sighed. Now, what the hell was he supposed to do?

The noise from the kitchen had ebbed down, and he decided to peek in the kitchen, survey any damage. If everything seemed okay he'd quietly grab the antlers and epoxy and get back to his roadkill. And if it wasn't, well, he'd smack some sense into Murdoc. He put on his "I'm a tough guy and I'm about to fuck your shit up for real" face and headed out, expecting to find the bassist as he walked through the halls.

The kitchen was empty except for 2D, who was seated at the counter, face-first in a bowl of ice cubes. Russel cleared his throat and the Brit started with a yelp. A couple ice cubes fell from the bowl.

"Hey. Calm it down, now. I ain't gonna hurt you."

"S-Sorry. I thought you was Murdoc again." He gave Russel a halfhearted smile. His right eye and cheekbone were swelling up -- 2D was going to have one hell of a shiner by tomorrow. Russel was impressed that he didn't have scar tissue from repeatedly getting beaten. He decided to take the singer's mind off of the fight.

"Didja eat yet?"

2D took a while to answer. "No. I think there's some Coco Pops in the pantry, top centre." Russel opened it, started to pour a bowl. "There's not any milk in the fridge, though."

"Don't matter. This is for you," he said, and slid the bowl down the counter to 2D, who stared at the bowl blankly before starting to pick at the chocolate cereal. Russel watched him as he scooped it into his mouth. There was a deadened look on 2D's face that made him think of a deer he'd found in the streets below Kong not too long ago. Heck, he even _looked_ like a piece of roadkill: blank black eyes, pallid and bruised skin, dissheveled hair. Just then, 2D let out a whine (maybe his jaw hurt?); Russel's first instinct was to laugh, but when he realized he was laughing at someone who'd gotten hurt he thought better. He ended up making a bellowing chuckle-cough. 2D stopped mid-chew and stared at him. "It's nothing, man, honestly."

He watched 2D slowly chew the Coco Pops. Even with the black eye and spaciness, there was something charming about him. Shit, was he really gonna go there? Again? He'd been thinking a lot about 2D as more than a bandmate, especially since Del's exorcism. Russel didn't dare tell Murdoc, but he and Del had kept things on the down-low way before the shooting. Even after death Del figured out ways to freak him. And, well, lately Russel had been wondering if 2D was into dudes. He always expected as much, given how damn pretty he was. Lately 2D had even upstaged Noodle in the clothes he wore. But clothes didn't mean shit: heck, Russel's wardrobe had gone from classy B-boy to acid trip funkadelic in no time at all.

Sometimes when the band was hanging after a show in one green room or another he'd try to gauge 2D's sex preferences based on the groupies he picked up. He thought it had been exclusively girls, often plastic-looking chicks who didn't seem like they had half a brain. But that was to be expected, right; he was the frontman, he was going to get some bimbos. Occasionally Russel would spot him chatting to a girl who wasn't exactly pretty but looked like she had some brains in her. On rare occasions he'd thought he saw him talking with a guy. Oh, Russel couldn't put a finger on it, there was just something about 2D that wasn't straight.

_Or maybe it's just that you wish he was into dudes so you'd have someone to get with, right? No one's dared get near you since that time in LA, and you just wanna bone something. That's it, isn't it?_ Russel shook away those thoughts. Damnit, he needed to think more positively. And anyway, even if 2D wasn't gay, at least he could be a big brother to him.

"Yo D," he said. The Brit started a little bit, roused up from whatever daze he was in. "Why you let Murdoc go at you like that?"

"Like what?"

Russel fought back the urge to suck in his teeth and roll his eyes. "You know, how he always whales on you and shit. The one time I seen you with no bruises or new burns was when we all came back to Kong. Like, you got a death wish or something?"

2D didn't say anything for a while. Looked down blankly at the table. "It's been better this time around," he said slowly. "We ain't fighting as much as we used to. I dodge most of his punches now."

"Bullshit. You say you're gonna take him on, but you ain't done it once when I've been here. Okay, except that time you two wrestled and you pounded his nose. But why you try to stay around him in the first place? He ain't gonna be friendly."

"Well," 2D started to say, and then paused. "Well, it's complicated, see, cos he put me into the coma, but he also took me out of it, y'know? And if I never met him, I'd have a dead end, uh, job, like as a piano teacher or something. I dunno, I'd cover old Blur songs on karaoke at the pub. Maybe have a band, but it wouldn't be like this. So I feel like I owe him. A lot."

"You don't owe him nothing, D. Murdoc, he's a greedy-ass bastard who doesn't give a fuck about anything but his own ass."

"But he could change, yeah? He likes you and Noodle. I think he likes me."

"He likes us cos we make money for him," sighed Russel. "Yeah, I guess he's in it for the music, too, but, like, I _know_ music, man. Murdoc, he just takes an idea, tosses it to us, and we run with it. That, and I think he knows Noodle could kick his ass if he wanted to be a fucking dictator." 2D was silent. "Look, man, all I'm trying to say is you can't let him run you over. You gotta stick up for yourself, or just stay the fuck away from him. No ifs, ands, or buts about it."

2D pushed the cereal bowl away, half-uneaten. "Man, you gotta eat that shit, otherwise you're never gonna be able to take on Murdoc," Russel said, punching him lightly on the shoulder. He watched as the Brit reached into the bowl and pulled out a handful. And another handful. He looked up at Russel and beamed, pieces of chocolate cereal stuck around his teeth. Russel nodded in approval. He started toward his room, paused when he got to the doorway. "Or you can just call me, I'll throw some sense into that motherfucker."

On his way back from his room, he peeked into the kitchen. 2D was still there, icing his eye, but when he saw Russel he got up from the counter. He ambled up toward Russel, cracked a smile. "Thanks, mate," he said, and the drummer found himself in a tight hug. After he untangled his arms (and the bag which held the epoxy, antlers, and fang caps), he wormed his arms around 2D, too.

"No problem, man. I'm working on an animal, so you know where to get me." He bobbed his head and ducked away quickly. Didn't want D to see his face get red.

That night 2D found a possum-raccoon propped against his old computer. It had bat wings, tiny antlers, gold fang caps and -- the piece de resistance -- a miniature AK-47 in its gnarled paws. "To help you take care of Murdoc," read the tag which came along with it. There was no name written.

[End.]

Postscript ~ I'm really curious as to whether I did a good job of writing Russel in character. More people need to write R/2D. I think it has the potential to be a happier pairing than M/2D. I mean, both Russ and D are spacey/haunted. Although as of Plastic Beach Russel is kind of ginormous, so the two might have some problems hooking up. Just saying.

Post-postscript ~ I'm working on a story where Russel brings 2D home with him to Brooklyn, but it's never specified what neighborhood he's from. My first inclination is to have Russel live in Bed-Stuy or Flatbush, but I can also see him roosting in Williamsburg or Park Slope. What do you think?


End file.
